


the paradox of hedonism

by moonbeam007



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A fic inspired by a philosophical concept, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Co-workers, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Kissing, Pining, References to Child Abandonment, Reverse Cowgirl, Rey Needs A Hug (Star Wars), Smut, Soft Ben Solo, They hurt each other, and need to learn communication, in the first paragraph of chapter 2, like alot of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29613675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonbeam007/pseuds/moonbeam007
Summary: It’s less intimate this way, easier to discount and write off. Maybe it’s easier for her to forget, if he can’t see her. The pleasure could be easier to take—if it’s without intimacy. Pain and pleasure are interchangeable and life becomes messy if those lines get blurred.
Relationships: Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 26
Kudos: 66





	1. the trolley problem

**Author's Note:**

> Who'd have thought I'd be using information from my minor to write smut with on the internet? Certainly not me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the trolley problem: there are two sides of a track. Side A has one person tied down and the Side B has five people tied down. A trolley is moving at an uncontrollable rate and you can't stop it. You can only decide to go down Side A or B. Either way you kill. Utilitarianism argues that you will choose which ever side that will yield in the most overall net happiness.

It’s an agreement. Something simple and unwritten. He would meet her whenever she wanted. Then, he would take her from behind hard and fast or her on top facing away from him. It isn’t an act of intimacy, but an act of necessity. She’d use him and he’d do the same. As if they were both running away from something that could be. To them, pain or pleasure was always the motivation.

—————————————————

They met at their internship. He was the first one hired and was tasked with showing her around. He was bored and didn’t think much of it when he was told to show the new girl around. He couldn’t have known about _her._ He couldn’t have prepared for her. Her, with her three endearingly odd buns and ugly yet charming shoulder bag.

_Hi, I’m here for the political data internship._

_Yeah, I was hired for it too. My name is Ben and I can show you around?_

_That’d be nice, I’m Rey._

He couldn’t have known about her.

—————————————————

Ben couldn’t help but be drawn in by her

After a while, he started to pick up on little things she would do. He saw that she would go a long time without speaking to anyone, just working, _working too hard for an unpaid internship._ He saw her every weekday, coming quietly into the office, with her shoulder bag that seemed to be hanging on for dear life. It was stitched up and patched back with fabric that was mismatched and stained and he knew that she might not care about much, but she cared about that bag. And he knew that something told him that there was more to her. Maybe it was the freckles or maybe it was how evasive she was. 

So, then he’d ask her to help him go through paperwork. It was always a flimsy excuse, but she would come and help every time. One or two times, he got her to stay and have a casual conversation—just so he could hear her voice. The biggest conversation they had was where she revealed where she was a barista at. But then, she’d shut down remembering that she revealed too much about herself. So she’d go quiet and that would prompt him to pick a fight, asking around the office about who left their mug in the sink. He’d be passive aggressive about it too, knowing she didn’t do it, but he would make the assumption that it was hers—so she’d fight back. She’d get defensive and start to show her true colors, asking him how he knows that it was hers—just so he’d get a glimpse at who she really is. So he’d see the woman he knew she tried to keep secret. 

—————————————————

The arrangement started accidentally. On a regular Friday, they had to stay late and finish going through the voter paperwork. He asked if she had any weekend plans and she answered curtly, “No”.

It was the first time she talked to him about something non-work related. He had to keep her talking, hanging onto every crumb and scrap she would delve out. In reality, she only gave out inconsequential pieces of information, like how she takes her coffee, _I’ll drink it in any form, I’m not picky—_ her favorite season, _I guess spring—_ or how she spends her freetime, _I don’t have freetime, but I like fucking._ It was the way she said it that struck him. She kept her life meticulous and careful, but hooking up was something careless. Almost as if she didn’t care who it was with or even if she liked it. The way she spoke about it, was like she wanted it to be wasteful and neglectful—like she wanted to be used up and then thrown out. 

In his mind, the only logical thing to do was propose that whenever she wanted sex, she would call him. It broke his heart, seeing her so reluctant and his for even considering casual sex with her. He knew that he couldn’t do casual, but it was what she needed, so he would gladly try to ignore his feelings. 

—————————————————

She would call him and ask _do you want to?_ And of course, he always says yes. She could ask him to strip and run to 3rd and into Independence Hall and he’d say yes—he will always say yes to her. So she’ll come to his apartment—never hers—and take off her shoes, pants, and panties straight in his entry way. She doesn’t squander around and waste time, so he doesn’t either. He is always in his underwear and t-shirt when she buzzes the entrance to his building. She would typically want to start right there with her braced against the door. 

There isn’t enough time for any sort of prep, so she’s not wet enough at her entrance. He has enough common sense and experience to know that it _should_ hurt and they _should_ take it slower. She doesn’t though, she acts like she doesn’t deserve anything good. He knows that he could take it slow with her, get her ready, and make her feel good. That she can have good things in life—not because she deserves it—but just because she can. 

But time was not on his side and she wouldn’t want to waste it.

—————————————————

They rarely go to the bedroom. More often it’s her bending herself over his kitchen counter or sofa. Sometimes, she just slams the door and has him take her standing up. But sometimes, on her terms, they make it to the bed. It’s harder and easier for him to ignore what they are doing when they fuck on a bed. It’s more personal as they aren’t fucking on the couch but harder because he can’t see her. 

And that’s another thing, her hard limit is to never fuck face-to-face. Her on top, riding him backwards, he could see her ass against his pelvis. He never lasts long on the bed, as soon as she arches her back a certain way or grips his legs a certain way, his hips shutter and fills a condom to be thrown away. Then she usually finishes, her thighs start to tremble and like that, it’s over. Sometimes, after a long week, he feels—or assumes—she has tears falling down her face. But then, the act becomes infinitely more intimate, and on those days, she scrambles even quicker to the bathroom, and then leaves. 

It’s less intimate this way, easier to discount and write off. Maybe it’s easier for her to forget, if he can’t see her. The pleasure could be easier to take—if it’s without intimacy. Pain and pleasure are interchangeable and life becomes messy if those lines get blurred. 


	2. the experience machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW// references to childhood abandonment, mentioned only in the first paragraph
> 
> the experience machine: a machine in which a person plugs into a machine that only gives that person happiness and good things in life. That person gives up real life and lives fully within the machine. A research paper written by Nozick, who says that plugging into this machine argues against hedonism and states that no one will really want to enter the machine.

Rey remembers her first undergrad Philosophy class. The third week of class, they had just started a unit that made her want to put in even more work and double major in philosophy. Hedonism, in its most basic form, is a concept that states that pleasure is only intrinsically good and pain is only intrinsically bad. She never knew that pleasure could be categorized in such a way.That happiness is the only measure of a life and anything without it, is meaningless. It’s ironic, she thought, that people who  _ weren’t _ left at a supermarket would be motivated to build a life with only happiness in it. She never thought that way; maybe she should. But in her experience, pleasure and happiness were things that get taken.

—————————————————

Rey’s day consists of working too much. Working her internship for a politician, graduate school work with a load too full, and her job as a barista. She’d never complain out loud though because  _ it’s something I have to do, so I just do it. I have to prove myself, I didn’t do anything to earn this.  _ She knows that she doesn’t have much self-respect. Staying up too late, not eating enough, or repressing whatever good things came into her life _.  _

_ It’s what she did when she met Ben.  _

—————————————————

Ben is kind of an accidental miracle. He tries harder to know her more than any of her foster parents ever did. He listens to her like she is the most fascinating person on Earth. She knows that he pays attention to her when she isn’t looking. He picks up on her little quirks, like how when she is muttering at her desk, she shouldn’t be bothered. So he steers the other interns away. But she picks up on his, like how he wears mismatched socks on the last Wednesday of every month, or how he only writes in blue pen, or when he thinks no one is watching will double check his math by counting on his fingers.

He isn’t nice but he’s good. Wholeheartedly good, the type of person who will literally stop and smell the roses. The type of person who listens to others and remembers it. He is the type of person who did good things without even realizing they were good. He makes the unremarkable, remarkable. He is by no means perfect though, he’s quick with a temper towards those who forget to refill paper in the printer or the cleanliness of the breakroom. He’s more real than anyone or thing she’s ever met. Ben is the kind of person that makes her feel unworthy to even breathe the same air as him.

—————————————————

She shouldn’t have agreed to his arrangement. But the opportunity presented it to her and it was a good one. No more gambles with internet hook-ups or awkward set-ups from her coworkers. But really, she wasn’t agreeing because it was convenient, she agreed because it was with Ben. 

She doesn’t like to see him during sex. So, she always is on top, but he always looks at her with his unspoken statement. He rests his hands delicately on her waistline, silently giving her permission to do as she pleases, even though he wants something else. But, it’s too painful for her. She doesn’t want to see the look of hope or content on his face. She doesn’t want to know that she’s responsible for making him come. And she pretends that she does not hear her name being whispered with reverence as he comes. 

Sometimes, she needs to see him. He’s there, waiting at his door with only his shirt and underwear on, giving her a bashful kind of smile. So she answers his unspoken question and guides them to his bedroom. She’s on the bottom, giving him permission to touch her as he pleases. A rare gift that she gives to him, but really it’s for her. Him, gently roaming his fingers over her chest leading to him carefully caressing her nipples, then over again her forearms and up to her face with the slightest touch on her cheek. But he doesn’t stay there for long, as if it’s forbidden for him to explore. 

They never last long enough when facing each other. Her hands scramble to grip whatever skin of his she can as she comes with a cry, and he groans and both of them finish. He collapses over top of her, his chest brushing against hers, as they both catch their breath insync. But then, the moment’s over—she doesn’t want to linger for too long, fearing that maybe she’ll stay this time, so she wordless rolls over, gathers up her clothes, and goes to the bathroom. She knows that it breaks his heart, but it breaks hers more. Hearing his soft  _ oh fuck  _ and  _ christ  _ and  _ gorgeous  _ but above all  _ Rey.  _ She can’t stand it, knowing that they could never be anything more. That she’s too damaged for his goodness and she’s never belonged with anyone, anywhere.

But really, she doesn’t want him to find out that she feels like she found belonging with him. 

—————————————————

She found the bag at a consignment store when she was thirteen. It was a cloth bag whose colors had long since faded. It stood out to her, it was bigger than any bag she had ever seen. Big enough to fit every single thing she owns, just three t-shirts, four pairs of jeans, a handful of underwear, two sports-bras, a toothbrush that had crushed up bristles from overuse, her school notebooks, and whatever else she picked up on her journey from foster home-to-foster home. All of her possessions, things that she owns and belong to her. So, she figured it could be useful to just keep everything packed so she could leave at a moment’s notice. So she bought it, with all of her savings that she scavenged up, she bought it.

The straps have torn at least fourteen times throughout her ownership of it and the cloth has been worn too thin so it rips and she has to patch it up. It’s completely mismatched and looks hideous, but it was hers. Now, as an adult, she still uses the bag albeit leaving her clothes and other things at her apartment, the one  _ she chose.  _ But she still uses it for work and school and whatever else, because the bag reminds her of life’s little pleasures that make the pain  _ almost  _ bearable. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third and final chapter will be up next Sunday *hopefully*, it's about halfway done! I hope you all have a very lovely week!


	3. the formula for humanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the formula for humanity: An act is morally right if (A) it treats rational beings (you included) as an end and (B) does not ever treat rational beings (yourself included) as a mere means. This is Kant’s argument of the hedonistic theory. That it is a person’s duty to never treat someone as a means and never treat someone as a 'good'.

They’ve been fucking for a couple of months when she breaks down in front of him for the first time. He could tell something was off when he opened the door, she was slower with her movements, more methodical—almost like she was stripping because it was what she  _ had to do.  _ Like she didn’t want the pleasure but it was too painful to say no. 

He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but that isn’t something they do. They don’t talk about anything real; more commonplace topics—like they are nothing more than acquaintances, unlike people who fuck regularly. Instead, he asks while she still has her t-shirt and panties on: 

_ Do you want to do this tonight? _

_ Why wouldn’t I? _

_ Because something’s off. _

_ Nothing’s wrong, unless you want to stop. _

_ No, I don’t.  _

He pretends to not hear her crying in the bathroom afterwards. She pretends to not see all his unasked questions on his face as she leaves

—————————————————

She calls in sick and she never does that. They’ve been working together for nearly eight months and she’s never been late, let alone miss an entire day. He must have done something wrong, he knows that he’s been hurting her—like she’s been hurting him. He’s been wanting to break the cycle. Willing and wishing her to tell him  _ how to not hurt Rey.  _ He can tell that something or someone has hurt her in the past and it’s been with her since. But he also knows that he’s been actively hurting her since he proposed the arrangement. And he also knows that he puts himself through pain when she said yes and every time she’s asked him to meet. He should’ve told her  _ his  _ feelings before they even started. 

_ It’s ironic,  _ he thinks to himself,  _ the pleasure he knows that she’s enjoyed almost outweighs the pain he’s given her.  _

Until he receives a text during his lunch break, 

_ Can I come over tonight?  _

_ Sure, are you okay? You’ve never missed work before.  _

_ I’m fine. I’ll see you tonight.  _

—————————————————

She has to end things tonight. She’s waited and drawn things out for too long. Every ounce of joy he’s given her is too much. Knowing that she’s too damaged to reciprocate it to him. She can’t allow herself to open up like that. The vulnerability she’ll be handing to him, trusting him and then him ultimately abandoning her.  _ Because that’s what people do when they get close. They leave. _

She can’t allow herself to think about him, let alone be in the same office as him, so she skipped out on work. She’s in her sparsely unfurnished apartment, with odd boxes still packed scattered around, laying on her bed with her coat and shoes on her bed.  _ That’s how I know it’s bad.  _ When the pain is so unbearable that it makes taking off shoes too hard and since she’s already in that much pain—she embraces it and sends him the text.

The text that’ll end all her pleasure and happiness. But this pain is more manageable than what she knows is coming. The pain she knows that she will inflict on him. Anticipating the pain from the conversation that she’ll bring onto him. Causing him hurt—knowing that his light and goodness may be dimmed because of  _ her.  _ But that’s what she does best; cause hurt and drive away the people she lov—cares about.

—————————————————

She’s fifteen minutes later than usual.

He’s been pacing around his living room in his underwear and shirt waiting for her to need him to be buzzed up.  _ She’s been lying to me, something’s definitely wrong _ . So he pulls out his phone and her number is still the last one he’s texted. 

  
  


_ Are you still coming over?  _

_ Yes.  _

_ You’re late. You’re usually here by now. _

_ I’ve been waiting at your door, I’m here. _

_ I just buzzed you up.  _

_ Okay.  _

—————————————————

She’s been outside, pacing, trying to come up with an excuse about why she wants things to end. She can’t come up with a reason for herself, let alone him.  _ Maybe I’ll just tell him the truth.  _ She knows that he knows something is up when he texts her. So she answers as shortly as possible. If she didn’t, she knows that she’d chicken out and break things off over text.  _ Ben deserves better than that. _

She’s alerted from her thoughts when she hears the buzzing sound alerting her that the door is unlocked. On a typical night, she takes the elevator up the four flights of stairs, but tonight she walks past the elevator and goes to the side door that leads up the stairs. She silently pads up the stairs, taking them one by one at a slow pace. She notices that the staircase is concrete and has stains and chips from overuse. She’s moving on autopilot. Remembering every good thing Ben has ever done for her; everything he’s given her these past few months. The joy he brought into her life, she never fully appreciated it until now. Her feet carry her up until sees the sign outside the hallway door that marks she made it to his floor. She pushes it open and her feet drag across the carpeted floor. 

She thinks back to the time that she wasn’t on top and was underneath him, as he fucked her on the floor. It was a rare night she was on the bottom. She needed him to have control and so she gave it to him. He started off slow, but she urged him to go faster, until her skin was left red and burning. She never had carpet burn pain until then. But she isn’t really thinking about that pain, she’s thinking about how much he cared for her. Even though he wanted things slow, he pushed aside his feelings and gave her what she wanted. How he would bring her coffee and listen about every insignificant detail she would offer up to him and he would talk about anything, just so she’d pay attention to him. How he cares so deeply about her and he doesn’t even know that much about her. She thinks about how he doesn’t  _ have  _ to remember that one of her coworkers has a giant wart on her neck, he doesn’t  _ have  _ to learn every curve of her body and what pushes her over the edge, and just like he doesn’t even  _ have  _ to notice her. But he does.

She’s at his door when she realizes that she doesn’t want things to end. She wants to be with him, she wants to open up to him about why she’s the way that she is. She wants to fix things with Ben. She wants to stay and find out why she’s hurt him and how she can stop. She’s never wanted to stay anywhere, never cared about finding a family or belonging. That’s a pleasure she never thought she could have. But this is  _ Ben.  _ The Ben that has given her so much, made her realize that she’s able to love someone. She’s never known love before, never been shown it or seen what it looks like. But being with Ben has shown her what love is and there isn’t any doubt about it. 

But she can’t hurt him anymore. She’s done plenty of that, so she knocks on his door. 

—————————————————

He hears her knock and rushes to the door. She’s standing there looking so defeated and sad. Even when she left his place crying, she had some semblance of strength. But now, she looks hopeless—lost. 

“Hi Ben. Can I come in?” She looks so hesitant, so small.

“Sure,” he moves out her way and gestures for her to come in.  _ She’s never asked to come in before _ . 

“I need to tell you something.” She’s picking at a loose thread on her bag, avoiding his gaze.

“What’s wrong?” She’s hovering in his entryway, holding herself,  _ not stripping _ . Something is off and all he wants to do is reach out and comfort her, but he knows he can’t.

She launches into it immediately. Talking more passionately and with more candor than he’s ever heard out of her.

“I’m so sorry to do this to you. I know you were expecting me to fuck you, I mean you are in your underwear, but I can’t keep putting this off. I can’t keep hurting you. So I think we should end things. You deserve so much more than I can offer to you. You are so good and I’m so crappy and damaged. Hell, I barely even look at you during sex. You deserve so much more than that and I’m a lot to deal with. I have a lot of intimacy issues and family issues. You don’t even begin to know about it, but that’s a me problem. You don’t need my trauma, I just wish I could be better. Because I think I love you Ben, but I don’t know how to love you. And I think I can tell that you maybe sort of like me, but I’m not the person you think I am. I ca—”

He decides that he can’t  _ not  _ touch her, so he steps forward while she’s rambling and hugs her. She’s stunned silent. Hesitantly, like she’s afraid, she reciprocates his gesture—gently wrapping her arms around him. 

Then she lets it all go and shows him vulnerability. 

She starts to cry in earnest. He’s not sure when the last time she cried like this. But he can tell that she needs this release. So he holds her as she buries her face in his chest, gripping his shirt in tight fists and damping it with pent up tears and snot. It’s the type of cry someone has when they’ve been burying feelings for decades. As she starts to shake, he pulls her down to the floor and holds her until she starts to hiccup and the tears streaming down her face slow. She releases his shirt and hesitantly looks up at him. She starts to open her mouth, but he starts first. 

“I know you are going to apologize for crying. But don’t. It’s okay to feel whatever you feel. And you aren’t undeserving of love and aren’t unworthy of it. I know that’s how you feel. But no person should go without love—you above all else deserve to know that someone loves you. Because I don’t ‘maybe sort of like you’, I fucking love you.” He hears her gasp and grip him a little tighter.

“And you, obviously, didn’t know that because I’ve been hiding my feelings. But I can’t not let you know anymore. I think about you all the time, probably more than I should. I can’t pretend I don’t have feelings for you anymore. Because I fucking love you. And we  _ should _ end the current arrangement we have and start a  _ new arrangement,  _ one that involves actually having sex. Because I can’t  _ not _ have sex with you and pretend I don’t love you. I want you to know that I love you. And part of the problem is me. I was an asshole to you by denying my feelings and not telling you. I should’ve told you a long time ago or I should’ve let you go and be with someone who can tell you what they're feeling when they start to feel it, but I was greedy. I wanted you in whatever way I could have you.”

He stops and feels her eyes on him but he won’t meet her gaze, “That’s—that’s all I have to say.”

“Maybe both of us are damaged assholes who aren’t worthy of each other,” she says to him. She lifts her hand up to his chin and tilts it down to look at her.

“We could be assholes together,” he decides and chuckles. He finally meets her gaze and sees her for the first time. Her eyes, full of hope and vulnerability and love. 

She must see something in the look of his eyes, because she pulls herself up with the arm she’s gripping so her mouth can meet his. 

—————————————————

It’s a couple of months after their fateful night. And now they carpool together now and it’s _good._ She stopped using her bag for work and now uses it to carry her things to use when she spends the night at his place. And they spend time together talking about what made them the way they are. It’s hard for her to open up—but she does and it gets easier after time. He holds her and listens. Then he tells her about himself and who he is. One night, after they made love slowly, with no rush—like time stood still for them, Rey got up to use the bathroom. 

She’s cleaning up and she thinks to herself:  _ maybe the hedonists were onto something. This is the good life and I didn’t even realize I was looking for it until I found it. The pleasure was worth the wait. _

__ Ben knocks on the door after he hears the sink turn off and asks, “Hey, do you wanna take a shower together?” 

She opens the door widely, with a bright grin to match his, and says “Absolutely.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! Every comment and kudos has been so very much appreciated and cherished! I hope each and everyone one of you have a marvelous week xxx

**Author's Note:**

> This will most likely be three chapters depending on their (or lack of) communcation. Hopefully, will be updated weekly! You can always yell at me if it isn't updated weekly on twitter, @moonbeam171


End file.
